Help Decide the Fate of My "Redneck Da Vinci Code"

It's been a hell of a year and I'll be honest, I'm way behind on getting the next book out.  The truth is, it's been stalled due to an idea I had to make it better.  The effort to incorporate that idea is almost like rewriting the damn book but I do believe it's worthwhile.  

I've been hammering away at it, but as any author can tell you, sometimes you start to get sick of your own story.  That's exactly what was happening so I put it down for a bit.  I really like this one and the characters in it and I want to keep it that way.

So while it's sitting and gelling, I've revisited an older one that's vexed me for years.  That's the one I need your feedback on.  

Years ago, I came up with the idea for a story that just lit me up from head to toe with excitement.  I've referred to it as my "Redneck Da Vinci Code" and I've worked on it in fits and starts for the better part of a decade.  The reasons I've had so much trouble finishing it have more to do with my buckling down on it and less to do with roadblocks, etc.  However, one of the main reasons is that I've often thought it was just too "eccentric". 

Something keeps drawing me back though.  So recently, I reworked the first two chapters and read them to the Orange County Fictionaires group that I attend.  I got great feedback on what worked and what didn't, but one thing about reading to other writers is that sometimes it doesn't answer the question, "Would a non-writer read this?"

So for those of you interested, I've posted the first two chapters below.  Let me know either in the comments here or on Facebook if you'd be interested in finding out more about what happened to Lee and Jacob, or if it just doesn't grab you.

Thanks for your time.

 Chapter 1:  LSD and Willow Trees

We are sitting behind a dumpster looking at the branch of a willow tree.  You.  Me.  We’re just staring.  The dumpster stands to the left of the willow and in the small space between them, we can see down an alley that seems to stretch forever. I am here for a story.  Presumably you’re here for the same, however forget about when and where you were a moment ago.  The story doesn’t exist there.  To hear it, you have to be here with me.  It is 1991.  We’re sitting in a Buick LeSabre behind a row of condominiums along Sunset Blvd.

The willow tree is magic.  We’ll get to that.

Looking out through the windshield of my rented car, my brain is struggling very hard to make sense of a world that seems to have gone completely insane.  Lights blur, buildings melt, their bricks dripping in big glops onto the asphalt of the alley and the very air feels electric.  This is due to an unreasonably high volume of LSD (in the form of three small pieces of paper each adorned with a green peace symbol) that I placed on my tongue about an hour ago.    

Tomorrow evening, I’ll be catching a plane on my way to a new life, but that is far from the forefront of my mind as I watch the magic willow tree do its dance.  Did I mention it was dancing?  Between the breeze and the drug it seems to be doing a tango of some sort and that’s fine with me.  Like I said, I’m just here to be entertained, but I’m yearning for something big, bright and fun to kick this experience up a notch.

  

So, it’s remarkable that you’ve picked this instant to join me, because it’s precisely the moment when the willow tree lets me in on its secret.  You see, up until this point, everyone who has ever wandered past it, just considered the tree a decorative member of the plant kingdom, provided to help add some color to an otherwise washed out urban area.  Little did they realize that years of evolution combined with genetic modification of plant seeds had created a willow tree that not only grew a beautiful green year round, but also granted its friends and admirers the ability to travel back and forth through time. 

  

That’s pretty amazing when you think about it but probably even more amazing is that all a person has to do in order to be granted this fantastic power by the willow tree is to simply ask for it.  

It also helps to have a metric ton of LSD lighting up your brain prior to asking. 

So it is by pure luck that I happen to be tripping my eyelids off when I audibly ask,"Damn, couldn't this get even a little better?" 

The willow tree  practically jumps out of the asphalt with excitement.

  

I’d almost given up! it declares. I've been waiting for someone to ask for years!

My smile extends from ear to ear. 

“Okay.  What have you got for me?” I ask.

A true story, it says.  It’s got intrigue, suspense and even alligators.

Instantly the windshield in front of me swirls and I find myself gazing into a giant rabbit hole.  At the other end is a past I could not possibly have known existed.  I see glimpses of wooded night, bustling sidewalks and a very large man cursing at something. 

It’s a mystery, the tree says. I’ll help you connect all the strings.  You’re going to love it.  

“Who are you?” I ask.

Salix Sepulcralix is my Latin name, but I go by Manny.

And with that, his branches pluck off wisps of sparkle and tie them in a neat little bow.  It resembles a filmstrip and it loops gracefully across the brilliantly glittering sky.  I smell buttered popcorn and warm caramel. 

All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the show… and pass along what you saw to someone else.

“Pass along?” 

The story.  You need to tell others the story.  What good is a story if it’s never told?

So that’s why we’re here.  In 1991, I sat behind a dumpster as a magic willow tree told me a story.    Some of it sounds true.  I’m not really sure what is or isn’t, but here we are staring at that tree, just waiting for the opening credits to roll.

The branch nearest us bends straight up.  The willow stands majestic and then leans down.  It grins at us in a way that only a willow tree can.

How would you like to see a little something with Burt Reynolds?

Chapter 2: Death on the River

We're pulled through the windshield and there is a moment of falling but only a moment.  As if the floor dropped a foot or two.  The words, October 14, 1968 – Marion County, Florida appear in the air in front of us.  Things seem strange.  The world seems small.   

Mere moments ago, we were sitting behind the wheel of a Buick LeSabre but now, we’re most definitely lying on the bottom of an aluminum boat on a river in a forest and I’m pretty damn uncomfortable.

I complain about this to Manny but he doesn’t respond.  Instead he kind of gestures with a branch as he fades out of sight and I notice that I’m not alone.  In the boat, there are two men and both are frightened and frantic.  Hearts are beating in their chests at rapid fire paces.  

Instinctively, I know that the two men in the boat are named Lee and Jacob.  To them, everything they’ve known and all the plans they’ve made in their lives have come down to this one instant and it’s going horribly wrong.  They are hunkered down in the 20-foot craft, each clutching a rifle, but the boat has stopped dead in the water.  The engine is running and the propeller is spinning but the boat isn’t moving at all.  

At least not forward.  Instead, it's shifting.  We can feel it.  It’s no longer pointed up river.  It’s slowly beginning to turn toward the shore; its nose pivoting on something.  Lee is looking at the side of the boat.  There are dots of moonlight scattered across it.  Jacob is breathing heavy and whispering something about God, damnation and the sons of dogs. 

The beautiful, glittering, fascinating world we’d been looking at has been reduced to the inside of a boat, sitting on a river in the middle of Florida and what strikes me first is that it’s amazingly quiet.  There’s nothing moving but the water.  No crickets chirruping.  No frogs.  There’s just the sound of water moving past the boat, Jacob whispering and a feeling like the night is a heavy curtain that has come down prematurely. 

Lee grips the end of his shotgun tighter.  He pulls his knees up and shifts his weight over, cursing at how the aluminum ribs hurt his knees.  He raises the rifle and blindly squeezes off a shot into the woods.  The sound reverberates through the forest like a thunderclap.  Underneath it there is a low ‘whump’ and Lee’s left forearm explodes as he falls back into the boat.  Bones are shattered.  The wound is tattered and messy, and now there is another sound.  The sound of his heart in his ears.  The sound of adrenaline and his own cries of pain.  

We can hear all of this.  I can feel him trying in vain to hold back a yell but he fails miserably.  He half roars, half cries.  It’s the sound of a wounded predator. 

And all the while, Jacob is still lying motionless in the boat.  He’s trying not to say anything.  I can see in his eyes that he wants to reach over to help Lee but he doesn’t dare.  Lee lies on his back,  holding what’s left of that arm with his other hand; pleading out to someone he can’t see.

“You can have it!  You can have it!  Just let us go,” he cries.

Jacob stays quiet.  He grips the shotgun, rolls from his side onto his back and wraps his finger around the trigger.  

Someone yells for him to stand up and put his hands in plain sight.  Lee whimpers and pulls himself up slowly.  There is that dull thump again and he falls back into the boat.  Something wet and sticky splatters across Jacob’s face.  He’s afraid to think about what it is.

Honestly, so am I.  

The boat is still shifting, slowly. 

  

Someone yells out, “When it gets sideways haul it into shore!”

“Okay,” comes another voice.

The boat continues to turn and Jacob stays still.  He’s got his breathing under control but I can still hear his heart pounding.    

I try very hard but I don’t hear Lee breathing at all.

The first voice yells back, “There were two people in that boat! Watch out!”

Jacob remains motionless, cradling the shotgun.  He raises his head slightly and looks down by his feet at the metal army trunk against the back of the boat.  It’s the first time I notice it and I immediately wonder what’s inside.  Whatever Jacob is searching for, he seems to find it.  He puts his head back down. 

And then we hear something clatter into the boat.  It’s a grappling hook and as it pulls taut, we are moving again.  There’s a shudder, a rat-tat-tat-tat and I realize the bow was held by a net, the knots making tooth-rattling vibrations through the metal hull as the current and the motor keep us jammed against it. 

“They’re pulling us to shore,” I say, but Jacob doesn’t seem to hear me.  

He is looking straight up into the clear, moonlit night, trying to see more area than he has ever tried to see in his life, looking for any movement at all at which to aim.  Looking for one good reason to swing the shotgun up.   

The sour smell of swamp and decay are getting stronger as we leave the current. The buzz of mosquitoes gets louder.

There comes a tree branch, low, maybe six feet above us. 

Jacob stays silent and still, shotgun at the ready.

If this were a theater I would be on the edge of my seat but instead, I’m lying across from Jacob feeling alone, scared and sad.  

Just like that, he sits up, brings the barrel around and fires.  There’s a scream as the explosion rolls through the trees.  He pumps the expended cartridge out of the chamber and swings around in the direction of the voice.

  

Fire spits from the barrel again and I hear something big hit the forest floor.

“Son of a bitch!” someone yells. 

The line has gone slack now and the boat feels like it's moving backward.  He pumps the shotgun again and moves to leap over the side.  There’s the low ‘whump’ sound and Jacob flies back into the boat.  He goes to his knees, hands to his throat.  The shotgun clatters to the floor and goes off. 

   

The flash happens right in front of me.  I should be dead, but instead there’s just a hole next to where I’m lying and the smell of spent powder all around me.  

Jacob’s hands are wet and black in the moonlight.  I see him struggling to get a breath as he falls next to me.

He’s staring up again and I follow his gaze.  Overhead is a tree limb, Spanish moss dangling down from it and small jewels of moonlight peaking through.

  

“It’s an oak,” I think for no reason at all and I get a brief glimmer of a memory.  It’s Jacob under a different oak in a different time. Then it’s gone.

I turn my head to look at the army trunk and I swear it glows as the world around me shimmers and shifts like asphalt on a hot day.  

Then it all disappears.  

The river is gone, I’m back in the Buick and the dumpster is in front of me again.  Manny’s branches are waving wildly, leaving tiny traces of starlight behind them.

He’s jovial.

I just watched two men die.  

This is not what I meant by "entertainment".

Southern California Vol. 12: George Adamski and the UFO Commune

Growing up on the east coast, I heard the joke about California all the time.  You know the one. 

California is full of fruits and nuts.

Well, there’s a little bit of truth to that.  The fact is that in California’s storied history, there are more than a few famous residents that leaned toward the oddball side of things.  Remember backwhen we discussed Zzyzx Road?  Springer was definitely one.   Another example is the hippie movement that made San Francisco famous in the 1960’s.  Then you’ve got the Jonestown cult that started out in Los Angeles before moving down to Guyana.  Those are just a handful of examples.

One that many people don’t know about is the commune started by George Adamski down near San Diego.  It’s definitely one that stands apart from many others because it was founded on a belief in the guiding hand of space aliens.  To get the full story though, you have to go back to the late 1940’s.  Adamski, a WWI veteran, had moved to Pasadena, California and began handing out business cards touting himself as a public speaker and teacher.  He announced himself as the founder of “Universal Progressive Christianity”, a member of the “Royal Order of Tibet” and of the “Monastery at Laguna Beach”.  His goal was (obviously) to found a religion.  The basis of that religion centered around a science fiction book he’d written called Pioneers of Space: A Trip to the Moon, Mars, and Venus.

Things didn’t work out for him though.  He ended up moving to a campground called Palomar Gardens just north of San Diego.  The owner of the campground was Alice Wells who had ghostwritten Adamski’s science fiction book for him.  While on the campground, Adamski had a stroke of luck (or planned a stroke of luck depending on what you believe).  One night, he and five other people saw a UFO through Adamski’s telescope.  The craft hovered above the campground and was reported in the local papers.  A few months later, Adamski dropped a bombshell.

He came out with photographs of the UFO’s that he claimed visited the campground.  He also claimed that the UFO’s were drawn to him.  Then on November 20, 1952, Adamski was visited by the UFO’s in front of witnesses and he was approached and held a conversation with a “human being from another world” named Orthon the Venusian.  All of this came out in the form of a book titled Flying Saucers Have Landed.  It was a smash success and catapulted Adamski to fame.

He followed that up with more books and then took to speaking tours where he related his experience firsthand and passed along knowledge he’d gleaned from his visitors.  By this point, he had actual followers and they started a small commune on the Palomar Gardens property.  All of this continued until Adamski died in 1965.  At that point, the campground was sold and changed hands quite a few times.  It’s now called the Oak Knoll Campground and it sits on Hwy 76 by the Palomar Mountain turnoff.  It’s close to the Palomar Mountain Observatory.

Even after Adamski’s death though, Palomar has been a center for UFO activity over the years.  Most recently there were two sightings in 2016.   First in March there were six objects spotted flying over nearby Valley Center by a retired Air Force Major and his wife.  Then in November, witnesses reported seeing a “green orb” in the sky being chased by Marine helicopters.  There are plenty more going back for years before that.

If you want to see the place for yourself, you can visit anytime and if you decide to head there, take the time to visit the Valley Center History Museum.  There you’ll find a permanent exhibit about Adamski and his UFO commune.

So yeah, fruits and nuts… fruits and nuts. 

Southern California Vol. 11 - The Ghosts of the Whaley House, San Diego

The Whaley House.  Chances are, if you have any interest in ghosts or have ever watched one of those shows on Travel Channel about supernatural stuff in California, then you’ve heard of The Whaley House.  It is officially recognized by the U.S. Commerce Department as the most haunted place in California.  Located in Old Town San Diego, the house was built by Thomas Whaley in 1855. 

Prior to the house being built, the site had been used once before to hang a criminal named Jim Robinson.  He’d been convicted of trying to steal a boat and having a long record of previous crimes, the locals strung him up on a gallows.  Unfortunately for Robinson, he was taller than most people and so when he was hung, he was able to get his toes on the boards and occasionally lift himself to get a breath.  It took him forty-five minutes to die.

Most accounts mark this as the source for the first occurrences on the land.  Once Whaley built the house, he moved his family in and according to the docents and historians my wife and I spoke to when we visited Whaley House, they were the first to report seeing and hearing ghosts.  Whaley was not a superstitious man though and while his family reported hearing strange footsteps, he refused to be alarmed by it.

 

The Whaley family lived in the house all the way up to 1953, with only one exception.  There was a period where Thomas Whaley refused to live there because he was overcome with grief over the death of his daughter.  Otherwise, with the Whaley family spending almost 100 years in the house, you can imagine that there is some history there and that history includes some tragedy.  Overall, six family members died in the house.  Also, a small neighbor child died there in an accident involving a clothesline. 

Throughout its history, people living in the house have reported ghostly presences.  Now that it’s a historic site and museum, the volunteers who work there are the ones who see things most often.  Which brings me to our visit.

 

Karen and I had lived here for eighteen years and never bothered visiting the Whaley House.  We would go to Old Town San Diego about four or five times a year on average but just never bothered checking the place out.  Last year, we decided to visit it before heading home from a long weekend.  The tour is self-guided and the house has been set up to show the various things it has been used for over the years.  For instance, one of the great rooms is set up as a court room, since Whaley House acted as the courtroom for San Diego at one point.  Upstairs, there is a room that set up with a stage.  This room was used as a theater at one point.  The rest of the house is what you’d expect of a semi-wealthy family’s home from the 1800’s.

 

As Karen and I walked into the theater room, a docent was just beginning to give her speech.  There were about ten other people in the room, all sitting on chairs facing the stage.  We took two seats on the far side.  On the side nearest the door, there was a family of four (mom, dad and two daughters who were in their late teens or early twenties).  As the docent talked about the theater, the mother from this group jumped.  She said she felt something tug her hair. 

The docent stopped and then told everyone that there was a young child ghost that often liked to prank people in the house.  She went on to say that she was very susceptible to feeling the ghosts presence when they were in the room and that indeed there was one there.

Now, understand that I love horror movies, horror books, and all things spooky, yet I have never seen a ghost.  As much as I want them to exist, I highly doubt that they do.  Karen and I watched this whole thing unfold as if it were a theater of the absurd performance.  The docent continued her talk but occasionally broke it up by pointing and saying, “There’s a presence there.”

As she did that, this woman continued to get more and more freaked out.  She described her hair being pulled.  She felt someone tickle her neck.  She felt someone grab her arm.  After about ten minutes of this, she insisted her family leave and they did. 

I set my phone camera on “burst” mode and took a ton of pictures during this.  Every time the docent pointed somewhere, I turned and shot pictures.  The whole time this other lady was squirming, I was taking pictures.  When I got home, guess what I had?

Yep, a bunch of pictures of this lady and that room.  There was not one single ghostly image.

Don’t let that deter you though.  Go to Whaley House and check it out yourself.  At the very least, it’s a part of California history and it’s right next to Old Town San Diego where you can find fantastic Mexican food.  Not to mention there are a ton of great breweries all close by.  Maybe after a night of eating a drinking, you’ll see your own ghosts.

Southern California Vol. 10 - Haunted Black Star Canyon

 Haunted canyons?  Seriously, Cary?  

Well, before you start giving me crap about this post, you should google Black Star Canyon.  You'll see that it's considered one of the most haunted places in Southern California.  A few paranormal shows have taken trips out at night to try to document activity.  In fact, it gets a whole five pages devoted to it in Greg Bishop, Joe Oesterle and Mike Marinaccci's Weird California (a personal favorite of mine).  

It also happens to be a beautiful hiking spot and is less than a half hour from my house.  Now, I'm going to just go ahead and say here that I've never experienced anything weird in Black Star Canyon myself, but I have two good friends who have.  I'll tell you their story in just a little bit, but first let's talk about why people think Black Star Canyon is haunted in the first place.

In the 1830's, the canyon was the site of an armed conflict between Native Americans and local trappers.  It was around this time that rumors of the canyon being haunted began.  In 1899, the canyon was the site of a murder that took the county by storm.  Three men got in a gunfight over a horse trade gone wrong.  When the shooting stopped, one man was dead and the other two turned themselves in.  Again, rumors swirled that the ghost of the dead man still traveled the canyon.  

There's also the story of a busload of children that went off the cliff on a steep canyon road, killing everyone inside.  Supposedly their ghosts also travel the canyon.  To make matters worse, there are some very real dangers in Black Star Canyon.

 
First, there are the "squatters".  Now, whether these people are really squatting or not is debatable, but there are multiple reports of people who live in a house near one section of the trail who love to chase off hikers by shooting shotguns over their heads and threatening them.  There's also the possibility that you'll run across a mountain lion.  In case you're thinking that's not a big deal, note that the sign above makes it a point to tell you that "your safety cannot be guaranteed".  They aren't joking.  In the last decade there has been at least one death of a mountain biker by a mountain lion who stalked and ambushed him on his morning ride.

The trail is also rife with "No Trespassing" signs since anything off the trail itself is private property. 

So why do people go?  Well, because of the waterfall.  It's one of the most beautiful in the area and while it's not very easily accessible (you'll have to climb over some boulders and cross some water) the destination is totally worth it.

Which brings us to my two friends.  I'm not going to use their names at all because they have no idea that I'm writing about this on my blog, but I'll say that I work with both of them.  They are avid hikers and on this particular day, they went with their families.  It was a weekend and early in the morning.  They parked and began walking the trail when one of them and his wife began hearing a strange crying sound.  They were ahead of the other friend and his family so they stopped and waited for them to catch up.  

When the whole group was together, they all listened for the sound and every single one of them heard it.  They described it to me as sounding like a woman or a young child crying, sobbing on the trail above them.  They called out to see if anyone was up there but no one answered.  Instead, the "crying" started again.  They called out one more time but then the sound stopped. The one who heard it first told me that the sound was so creepy, the hair on his arms was standing on end.

 

They waited a while longer, calling occasionally, and the sound never started again.  They decided to continue on to the falls.  The rest of the hike was uneventful and on the way back they asked other hikers they passed whether they had heard anything in that section of the trail.  No one had heard anything other than bird calls and normal forest sounds.


Now, neither of these men are prone to embellishing things.  Also, they both told me this story separately, without the other there to help them "remember".  Their descriptions were almost identical with one of them telling me, "It was seriously f__ing creepy."

What did they hear?  Who knows?  

It could have been an animal.  It could have been one of the "squatters" messing with them.  The bottom line though is it was an unsettling situation in one of the most notoriously eerie locations in Orange County.

Are you feeling like you want to do something weird also?  Well, you're in luck.  I've got a pretty creepy book out called The Wash. You can read it from the safety of your own home and not have to worry about squatters shooting at you.

Until next time, stay safe and stick to the trail. 

Southern California Vol. 2 - Ancient Chinese Explorers

There may be nothing I love more than hearing about an odd discovery or a weird mystery that either hasn't been explained yet or has turned accepted facts upside down.  There have been plenty of times that I've used those as jumping off points for a story.  More often than not though, I just love to think about them and wonder just how much we don't know about the stuff we think we know.

One of my favorites comes from my adopted home state of California and it happened to be discovered less than an hour away from where I live.  It also involves diving, which is always a big draw for me.  

Back in 1975, a couple of guys who ran a scuba equipment shop were diving off Palos Verdes.  The area is a beautiful place to dive.  There is plenty of reef available to find lobster and abalone which these two gentlemen were doing at the time.  Instead of finding dinner though, they found one of these.

Now, obviously Mother Nature doesn't usually make donut shaped rocks and she definitely doesn't make them over 300 pounds each.  The two men got one of the rocks to the surface and back to their shop and over the course of a few weeks of diving found many more.  It was a pretty strange phenomena and as word of it got around in the diving community it was eventually brought to the attention of Professor James Moriarty III at the University of San Diego.  He and an associate Larry Pierson studied the rocks and determined something groundbreaking.  

They were approximately two thousand years old and were part of a shipwreck.  That's right!  Somewhere around the time of Christ a large man-made sailing vessel had cozied up to the shoreline near Palos Verdes and gotten a little too close to the reef.

This was a major find, mostly because the accepted history up to that point was that no ancient civilization from another continent had ever set foot in what is now Southern California.  In fact, the commonly accepted theory was that the Spanish were the first non-native people to explore this area of North America and that was only about 500 years ago.  

So who were these ancient sailing explorers?  A lengthy study of the stones revealed they were anchors and ballast and that the sandstone they were made from originated from Southern China.  

History books still don't recognize that Chinese explorers visited California centuries before the Spanish but there are other clues that point to that being the case.  Aside from these stone anchors and others discovered along the coastline, there have been rock carvings of Chinese origin discovered in Nevada and even a small idol with Chinese characters uncovered in Colorado. 

Fascinating, huh?  

It gets better although this next part is heavily disputed and should be read with an open mind.  Twenty years before the anchors were discovered, a well traveled attorney named Henriette Mertz wrote a book called Pale Ink: Two Ancient Records of Chinese Exploration in America.  

In it, she dug into the writings of Chinese explorers who documented their visits to a mysterious land called Fu Shang.  The texts are extremely old.  One is from 500 AD and the other from 2200 BC.  Mertz drew some interesting parallels between their descriptions and major landmarks in the western United States. Now, be aware that Mertz made some mistakes in her research, mostly by misidentifying some texts and making a few assumptions when she probably should have let the facts speak for themselves. 

However, if you just look at the facts presented, she makes a strong case.  For one, she converted the old Chinese units of measures into miles and when she did, she found that they indeed would have placed the Chinese explorers in California. She also pointed out descriptions of landmarks that sound very much like Mount Shasta and the Grand Canyon among others.

We may never end up knowing for sure who came to California originally and perhaps recorded history will always stick with the Spanish being the first explorers, but it sure is fun to think about there being a hidden history behind the accepted one.

If you're looking for other fun stories, check out my author page over at Amazon.  There you'll find my book The Wash and a couple of other items.

Enjoy!